The ladies—some rouged, some a little pale—
Met the morn as they might. If fine, they rode,
Or walk’d; if foul, they read, or told a tale,
Sung, or rehearsed the last dance from abroad;
Discuss’d the fashion which might next prevail,
And settled bonnets by the newest code;
Or cramm’d twelve sheets into one little letter,
To make each correspondent a new debtor.
For some had absent lovers, all had friends.
The earth has nothing like a she-epistle,